


Both Ways

by thatsenough



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 06:44:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3280610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsenough/pseuds/thatsenough
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place January 2015, at the extended camp that was actually in California, but for my purposes takes place in South Florida. Irony is accidental, as I started this way back in December.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Both Ways

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to follow up on There's No Rush, but it turns out when you write a one-shot, it can be hard to send it someplace else. I'm a bit anal, so I'm still trying to find a way to extend that story in a way that pleases me. But I started kicking around this idea one day, and several thousand words later, here we are. 
> 
> Hopefully they'll be more to come in the next couple of weeks for both stories.

“Late night, Harris? I have to say, I expected better breakfast company from someone who’s had this much experience as my roommate.”

A groan emanated from the mop of blonde and brown hair peeking out from under the hooded sweatshirt sitting across from Hope. The hotel restaurant wasn’t busy at all this early on a Tuesday morning. It was the team’s third full day into their three-week Miami camp, and their first day off. So, presumably, Ashlyn had elected to make some poor decisions the previous evening.

“You’re not a rook anymore, you know, Ashlyn.” Another groan, and a slight rolling of the shoulders. Decent chance that with a little more pushing, she could get her younger backup to crack. Hope had a sick sense of humor sometimes. ”I know you’ve got a lot of friends that live in Miami, but there’s no excuse for ignoring curfew to be an idiot. If, heaven forbid, something happened in practice, and you were first up next month—“

“God, Hope, I know! I didn’t…you don’t under…GRRAAAGH!”

Ok, this was confusing. She’d pushed Harris frequently enough, enough times that she should know that Hope was just screwing around with her, just giving her a rough time. Sometimes, she could be a bit dry. Kelley always said—well, Kelley used to say, last week when they were last on speaking terms—that her humor bruised others easily. Never Kelley, but then Kelley was made of some other stuff entirely.

“Harris. I’m kidding,” she tried, plastering a grin on and rubbing the other keeper’s heavily tattooed shoulder. “See? This is my joking face.” Ashlyn had turned away from her after her outburst, and was rubbing at her temples with increased force. “Everything’s cool, ok?” “It’s…it’s not you.” Ashlyn sighed deeply, her head swiveling round to face Hope. “I had a weird night, but I was **definitely** in by curfew.”

It wasn’t until now that Hope had noticed just how tired Ashlyn looked. “Define weird,” Hope said after a long sip of her coffee. Putting the newspaper she’d been uninterestedly perusing, she gave her breakfast companion her full attention.

“Well, do you know how me and Ali have been kind of, uh, butting heads this week?” Hope scoffed, while motioning the server over to take their order. After arranging for a pair of fruit salads and a couple of bacon and sausage omelettes, and after Ashlyn grunted out an affirmative to the proffered coffee, she replied, “Everyone with _eyes_ has noticed. By the way, you two aren’t terribly subtle.”

Ever since they’d arrived in camp, the pair of friends had been, well, at odds. “Chilly” was the code phrase that HAO had come up with, and that had been kicking around the team. Generally, Ash and Ali were inseparable, for which Hope gave eternal thanks, as Ali’s influence went a long way towards keeping an occasionally unruly Harris in line.

As expected, Ashlyn blushed, somewhat. “Oh. I was trying to keep it between her and I, but, uh. Well, she’s really pissed.” Hope peered at over the far edge of the large coffee mug she held up between her hands, tapping her fingers on the white ceramic. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” she started hotly. “I was minding my own business. She’s mad because she started seeing someone, and, I guess, I wasn’t pissed enough for her?”

“Wait, what? Start from the beginning, please.”

* * *

Before the afternoon of their awkward, tense, silent flight in Ft. Lauderdale, Ashlyn and Ali had been closer than sisters, as attached as they’d always been. The two had been friends since their U-21 days, and they’d remained in touch ever since, visiting one another at college and trekking out to see one another while playing for club teams on different continents. It was Ali who rooted for Ashlyn to have patience, who was the most consistent voice in her ear telling her that she’d make the senior national team one day, that she’d soon play with the US crest on her chest once again. It was Ashlyn who dropped everything and came to Ali’s side when she ripped all of the ligaments in her knee, and faced upwards of eight months of intense physical therapy. The pair had been with each other through tremendous highs and volatile lows, and had managed to so without every getting into a fight or having an argument.

There was only ever one problem. It was a problem that neither of them ever talked about, and they really should have. They should have talked about it when they played in Germany together. They should have talked about it when they were both allocated to Washington. They should have talked about it when they decided to move in together with Lori. They could have talked about it a hundred times by now, but they never did.

They had, for almost a decade, refused to talk about the night that they had sex. And refused to talk about how they each left town the next morning, and had pretended nothing had ever happened, that Ali hadn’t just cheated on her boyfriend, that Ashlyn hadn’t just broken every single one of her own hookup rules (1: Never fool around with a friend. 2: Never sleep over. 3: Never cuddle, and 4: Never say _I love you_ before, during, or immediately after sex, no matter how good it is, not even by accident.)

It had been such a long time ago, and when they were living on separate continents, it really wasn’t a big deal. Sure, when Ali would call and wake Ashlyn up to tell her about her mornings, it was hard for Ali not to remember how much sleepy Ash sounded like drunk, sexy Ash. If she was honest, it was precisely the reason she would call so late, so frequently. And when Ashlyn would suggest that they switch to Skype, she would try not to notice how the look in Ali’s eyes always grew a bit hooded, and her voice would get a little quieter, a little huskier when the call first connected.

But there just wasn’t any reason to bring it up when she’d fly to Germany to visit, and Ali’d greet her with a sixty-second bear hug in the middle of the airport, and then excitedly show her all around Frankfurt, and then fall asleep on top of her after passing out in the middle of _Homeland_. It didn’t matter when Ali suggested that they both choose Washington when USSF asked for their allocation preferences, so that they could finally live in the same city and be close to Ali’s dad, who adored Ash. And it was totally irrelevant when they were picking out an apartment together just outside DC to share with Lori, or when they decided to sign with Tyrëso and room with Press and Whit in an attempt to wash the acrid taste of that first NWSL season out of their mouths.

They both dated, dated other people, frequently and with impunity. Sometimes, more than one “other people” at a time. Ali was especially adept at this, and managed to always keep a rotating but regular string of lovers, both men and women, without anyone ever finding out or getting their feelings hurt.

Meanwhile, Ashlyn had an approach to the single life all her own. Her closest friends had a saying among themselves: when Ash walks into parties, her presence immediately fucks with at least four different women in four different ways.

And it certainly wasn’t like their personal lives were off-limits with each other. Ali always made a point to poke fun at Ash about the sheer volume of conquests she’d acquired, invoking an ancient (and made-up) African curse that would befall anyone who broke the heart of 100 women. “You’ve got to imagine that this rule applied just to men though,” she’d say, playing along with Ali’s joke. Ali would bite her lip, and say something like, “No, I researched it thoroughly. The language is gender-neutral. You’re going to get your ass handed to you by some enormous fire-breathing horned demigod with a hero complex.”

And Ashlyn had laughed earnestly and heartily that afternoon before their flight, while Ali told her the story of how, earlier that week, she’d had to sneak out of one fling’s house while she was asleep to head off another fling, who was the first one’s brother and was coming over to surprise her for her birthday. “Thank God, he tries to make me feel like I’m a part of his life, so he tells me absolutely everything. He happened to text me right when I’m coming out of the bathroom that he’s on his way to see his sister.”

Ashlyn put down her lucky pre-flight beer, trying to keep the malty trippel from squirting out of her nose. “Jesus, Alex, the guy’s sister?” Ali looked at her pointedly. “What?” she asked, wiping at her still-watering eyes with the hem of her tank top. She ignored the small but audible gasp that Ali let out at the exposure of Ashlyn’s midsection.

“Who wears a tank top when it’s 30º outside, huh?” Ali said, clearing her throat. “And, to answer your ‘what,’ didn’t you just last month sleep with those twins in Baltimore?” “Well, yeah, but that was different.” “How was that at all different?” countered Ali, incredulity in her still-amused eyes as she walked back towards her bedroom. “Hold on, let me grab my other sweater, this one clings too much for the plane.” Ashlyn had noticed the fabric hugging Ali’s chest–how could she not–but they were just going to have to agree to disagree about what constituted “too much.”

She came back into the kitchen just a bra, and Ashlyn had to contain her own gasp. She did a much better job that Ali had, and even managed to seem annoyed, which, if she was honest with herself, she sort of was. “It’s different because we were all in the room together and also what happened to your clothes?” “Oh, that other shirt went with the clingy sweater, so since I changed sweaters, I have to change the top underneath, too. Stop looking at me like that.”

Ali was still shirtless, standing in the kitchen next to the bar, suddenly rather close to Ashlyn’s denim-clad legs. Denim that felt nonexistent as Ali sidled between them and turned her back. “Put this necklace on for me.” Ashlyn thanked every deity she could think of for the fast hands of a goalkeeper, because right now was not a great time for Ali to be parked between her knees. “Mmm, thanks, Bear,” Ali murmured, (finally) slipping on a dark gray t-shirt. As she moved around the counter to enter the kitchen, Ashlyn jumped up from her seat. “No worries. I’m gonna, uh, hit the bathroom real quick.”

While she was gone, desperately splashing water on her face, staring into the mirror in wonderment at Ali’s nerve today, Ali took up residence on the stool that her roommate had just vacated and sipped her friend’s beer. They’d had the place to themselves, as Lori was still with her family and Lacy in Indiana until later that week, and there was always a weird mood in the apartment when it was just the two of them. She’d never really noticed it when Ashlyn came to visit her in Germany, but they’d been cohabiting for the past two years, and whenever their roommates were away for extended time, the vibe between the two of them got…strange.

She’d mentioned it, casually, to Liz. It was the night before, over drinks in a new place in Annapolis that they’d been meaning to try for months. Liz had suggested they try it tonight, since Ali wasn’t expecting to be back in Virginia for a few months. Of course, a little of the joy of the rustic, classy bar was ruined, because Liz yelled quite a bit once she realized that Ali had been keeping a secret from her for a decade. “You slept with Ashlyn! Oh my. Just. No. It’s like, ugh, it’s like you slept with your slutty cousin,” she’d wailed, and Ali was doubled over at this. “No, no, you’re so gross. It really wasn’t like that at all. Besides, it was before we became such good friends. At the time we were just—” “Teammates. God. You absolute whore. I bet she was great, wasn’t she?” Ali remained silent for this, and after a second, blew right past it. She was keeping the details of that night for herself. “The thing is, I’m starting to notice, ever since we’ve been living together, the air in the room gets really, I don’t know, kind of thick, whenever it’s just us in the house. It’s not all the time, but I think only when our roommates are gone for a while. All of sudden, we kind of can’t stop touching each other.”

Liz had taken a sip of her drink, and waved off Ali with a dismissive hand. “That’s normal for you two, isn’t it? You guys have been doing shit like that forever.” “Yeah, but…I don’t know. We slept in her bed last night. Possibly in our underwear.” She muttered this last part. “Uh, why?!” Liz was shouting again. People were starting to glare over at them. Ali was glad that the light was so murky. “I don’t know. We fell asleep watching something. Well, I fell asleep on top of her, because she was doing that thing where she strokes my skull with her fingertips, and also shut up. And when I woke up, it was weird, she’d gone to bed. Usually, she just stays out there until morning with me. Like, I felt her get up from under me, and the absence of her woke me up. And then I was heading to my room, I think, but I just ended up at her door. She was lying in bed, and was still trying to get out of her clothes, half-asleep, and I just started helping her and took off my clothes and then I woke up again this morning and we were in each other’s arms.” Ali trailed off, embarrassed to have said most of that aloud. Her friend gaped at her for a second, and then leaned forward over the repurposed barrel serving as their table. “What happened when you woke up?” She shrugged. “Nothing? That’s what’s so weird. But I guess it shouldn’t surprise me, that’s what happened after we, you know. She woke up, smiled at me, and was like, ‘Your morning breath is almost worse than mine.’ We got up, I went back to my room, life went on.”

She hadn’t been totally honest with Liz last night. Ash, before anything else, while probably still asleep, had uttered in a somnolent murmur, “You always feel perfect here.” Ali had been half-asleep herself, and rubbed Ashlyn’s midsection idly with her hand. And then Ali was fully awake, because she realized that _this was Ashlyn underneath her, and this wasn’t the first time they’d woken up like this, and, oh_. That had prompted her to twitch her hand suddenly, which woke Ash fully, and then, yeah, they’d broken apart like nothing about this was odd.

After all, it certainly wasn’t the first time they’d fallen asleep with each other. They shared a bed every time Ashlyn had come to visit her in Frankfurt. It happened plenty of times in Sweden, when the vastness of the castle sometimes frightened Ash but she came next door to Ali’s door under the pretense of helping assuage Ali’s own fears. And every single movie night so far in DC had let to the pair them sleepily disentangling themselves the morning while still on the too comfortable, too spacious couch.

But Ali had felt compelled to tell Liz about Thursday night, because Thursday night/Friday morning didn’t feel like normal. Waking up to those words from Ash didn’t feel like usual, it felt like the living, breathing manifestation of everything they hadn’t said to each other for nearly ten years, in the countless moments when no one else was around. It was like Ash’s subconscious was trying to tell Ali something, and she wanted to hear it again. So, she’d decided to up the ante.

Ashlyn came back out of the bathroom, a long several minutes later. “Ok,” she said, determined to seem as unaffected as possible. “So, I should probably finish packing. Want to help?” Ali looked over, judgement all over her face and Ash’s beer still in her hand. “How is it possible that you’re not ready yet?” “Relax, it won’t take long. Plus, when I say help, I really mean, ‘lay on my bed and try to distract me.’ What time is—“ “Uber will be here at three, so you have, oh Christ, Ash, you have like thirty-five minutes.”

A wide grin spread across the blonde’s face. “C’mon, girl. Watch this work.”

True to her bravado, all her belongings were in the large US Soccer suitcase and her accompanying leather carry-on in less than twenty minutes. “And with time to spare. I think I’m going to have another beer, I’m feeling so proud of myself,” she said, beaming with pride at beating her personal record of twenty-four minutes. When she’d returned from the kitchen, after depositing her bags next to Ali’s by the door, she was greeted with a peculiar sight. Ali had been laying on her stomach, watching Ash move with precision around her extremely clean bedroom, mocking and observing her friend’s well-practiced packing routine. But now, she was standing up, gazing closely at one of the dozens of photos plastered all over her closet door, the only part of the room that seemed at all disorganized.

Walking up behind Ali, Ash saw that it was a photo of the two of them from the night that they met. She placed her bottle on the nightstand next to the closet, and pushed her fists into the pockets of her joggers. “That’s one of my favorites, you know,” she remarked quietly. Ali turned to her suddenly, a ferocity in her eyes. They stood that way for a moment, Ash staring at the photo, keenly aware that Ali staring at Ash. And then Ali was kissing Ash.

Still, not terribly out of the ordinary for them. Sometimes, Ali would just look at Ash after she’d done something adorable or impossibly endearing, and she would plant a peck on her lips. Other times, Ali would be upset or inconsolable, until Ashlyn would look over and give a very small smile, and then very gently, very sweetly, very briefly, bring their mouths together. It was a gesture of affection between them, but it was always so chaste. Well, almost always.

This afternoon, when they’d have to sit next to each other in the cramped confines of an airplane for four hours, Ali reached up for kissed her, and it was short, but it was hardly the platonic gesture between them that either was used to. Ashlyn felt Ali’s strong tongue push her lips apart and probe into her mouth, gently but insistently coaxing her own tongue into action. Her hands instinctively shot up and got tangled in waves of luscious brown hair. Within a few seconds, it was over, but not before Ali had broken the kiss and then brought her mouth back up to Ashlyn’s, grabbing her lower lip between her teeth and biting down teasingly.

And then, she walked out of the room. Ashlyn stayed rooted to the spot, rendered uncharacteristically mute. After a moment, she was jolted back to reality— _that wasn’t normal that was weird that was really fucking good she tastes like happiness what the fuck is WRONG with her_ —by Ali’s call. “Oh, shit, Ash, the Uber guy is early.”

And then, they sat in the backseat en route to the airport, Ali texting someone on her phone, probably either Liz or her dad or both, letting them know that they were on the way. Ashlyn hadn’t said a word since her bedroom, and was staring straight ahead into the back of the black leather seat. “My dad said for us to have a safe flight,” Ali said, looking out the window. Ashlyn blinked, and looked at Ali like she’d just noticed that she was there. “What?” She asked blankly.

“Dad says safe flight. Oh, I meant to tell you, I think the sister wants to go out again.” “What?” “The sister. From the story earlier. The brother was coming over for her birthday?” “Oh. Right. Ok. Wait.” Ali chuckled lightly. “Yeah, I know. It’s been more than three dates.”

This seemed to wake Ashlyn from her daze. “Yeah, wait, I thought you never went out with anyone for longer than that.” Ali pulled her sweater closed around her shoulders, and crossed her sweat-panted legs. “I don’t, but I usually tell people ahead of time and they don’t ask for more. This one, you know. Is asking for more,” she said with a shrug. “Oh. Uh, ok. Great.” And Ashlyn went back to staring and not saying anything, now with **two** enormous pieces of information to try to sort out in her mind.

They didn’t say much else to each other until they were sitting in their seats. Ashlyn stood in the aisle for Ali to take the window seat without asking, as she always did on their flights. Looking at her friend fully in the face for the first time, a darkened scowl clouded her features. Ali looked pissed. Sitting down, Ashlyn asked in a hushed voice, “Shit, Ali, what’s wrong?” “Oh, now you have something to say to me? After giving me the silent treatment for the past fucking hour? I don’t really give a shit, but it’s fucked up to just have no reaction. No, don’t say anything now,” she said, waving her hand as Ashlyn opened her mouth to protest. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say now.”

* * *

“So, uh, basically we got into it last night, and she called me a coward, and might have slapped me when I told her that she was being sort of manipulative, and then I made her cry, and then I was crying, and that’s why I didn’t get any sleep.”

Hope stared. “And this all happened…” “Well, between seven and eight last night. Or maybe I guess, Saturday afternoon? But really, I guess, like ten years ago? God.” Her head fell to the table in existential defeat, narrowly missing her cold, untouched omelette, arms hanging limply in defeat at her sides..

“You two are idiots, you know that, right, Harris?”

“We _both_ know,” came a voice just beyond Ashlyn’s slumped form. “Can I borrow that seat?”


End file.
